


your life was my life's best part

by Zoejoy24



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Bombing, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Suicide, seriously this is just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: For a career cop in New York City, an alleyway is not actually that unlikely of a place to die.  That’s the first thing that Gil thinks as he realizes how the next few minutes are going to go down.Written for the Dying in Their Arms square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610707
Comments: 31
Kudos: 51
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	your life was my life's best part

**Author's Note:**

> I.... uh. I'm so sorry. I cried writing this. You are warned.  
> Also if you really want to wreck yourself emotionally, listen to You by Keaton Henson while reading.
> 
> Also please excuse any glaring mistakes. I couldn't bring myself to go back through and proofread. I'll fix it later.

_ If you must leave, _

_ Leave as though fire burns under your feet _

_ If you must speak, _

_ Speak every word as though it were unique _

_ If you must die, sweetheart _

_ Die knowing your life was my life's best part _

_ If you must die, _

_ Remember your life _

**YOU** , by Keaton Hensen

For a career cop in New York City, an alleyway is not actually that unlikely of a place to die. That’s the first thing that Gil thinks as he realizes how the next few minutes are going to go down. 

Malcolm’s with him, trying to talk down a killer. The suicide bomber, to be specific. 

There’s been a string of them, throughout the city. Small, homemade vests, filled with nails or ball bearings, meant to inflict physical damage to nearby humans, but not particularly damaging to buildings. Which is why an alley seemed like the ideal place to corner him, keep him contained until the bomb squad had arrived. 

Except there were a couple teens in the alley, and things had gotten dicey. So Malcolm had started talking.

The kid has such a good heart. He’s seen more than his fair share of horrible things in his life, starting at such a young age. The cards were stacked against Bright from the beginning, really, just by being born a Whitly. Most people wouldn’t see it that way--they just see the nice apartment and fancy suits. Gil knows better, knows that Malcolm would give it all away in a heartbeat if it meant he could get rid of the trauma that went with it.

Despite all that, Bright is a good man. Not perfect, definitely a little broken, but good. And that’s why he’s standing beside Gil, unarmed, pleading with the man wearing the vest to let the kids go.

“They’re not part of your mission, are they? They’re just punk kids. You blow them up, you look like a monster, not a hero,” Bright says, expressive as always as he tries to reason with the man.

The bomber hesitates, starts to nod slowly.

“Yeah, fine. You’re right, they’re not…they’re innocent. They can leave. But no one else! You move a muscle and I’ll blow us all away,” he warns.

Bright nods in agreement. “Good, fine. I won’t move. We’ll just stay right here, and talk, okay?” 

The two teens scurry off quickly and for a moment things are tense. Gil’s not at all sure that the bomber won’t just blow the vest immediately.

He doesn’t, and Malcolm starts talking again.

It’s not working, though. Not this time. Gil can see it in the guys eyes, he’s not listening to a word Malcolm is saying. Malcolm doesn’t see it, despite all his training, his ability to read people like a book. He’s blinded to it by his own desperate need for hope.

Gil edges his way closer to Malcolm, goes slowly, carefully, till they're side by side. They’re not getting out of there. The guy is too unhinged, too desperate and already too committed to back down now. Bright might be the best profiler around, but Gil’s been around the block more than a few times, and he can see the glint in the guy’s eyes as he makes his decision.

“Bright, get down!” he manages to yell, and he flings himself in front of the kid, throwing them both to the ground with his body shielding Malcolm’s.

The blast comes a second later, and he feels the searing heat of it against his back. It’s loud, the reverberations shaking the windows high up in the wall, echoing throughout the alley. They land with a thud, but he’s got a hand under Malcolm’s head, keeps him from smacking it against the ground as best he can.

He can’t move, can’t hear anything past the ringing in his ears. Malcolm lays beneath him, eyes wide with panic, and his mouth is moving but Gil can’t make out the words. He’s got blood on his face and Gil frowns at that, but he can’t see a wound. And he’s alive, conscious, that’s good…

Malcolm pushes at his shoulders, shimmies out from underneath him so that he can sit up, Gil’s head resting in his lap.

He can still feel the heat from the blast, his back burns, the pain growing more intense with each passing moment and he feels, more than hears, a groan escape from his own lips. It hurts to breath, each breath a battle that he’s not sure he can keep fighting for much longer.

“God, oh, god… Gil…” he hears, finally, the sound of Malcolm’s frantic voice cutting through the ringing. 

Malcolm’s looking down at him, tears streaming from his eyes. He’s cradling Gil’s head with one hand, brushing his hair back from his face gently. His other hand is covered in blood and he holds it to the side like he isn’t sure where to put it. 

“Gil, just hang on, okay. It’s going to be okay, help is on the way. Just hang on, just keep your eyes open. Stay with me, please. Please stay with me,” Malcolm’s saying, his voice thick with sorrow.

“Sorry, kid. Don’t think I can,” Gil manages to say softly. 

His breathes are growing shorter, slower, and he’s wheezing with each painful inhale.

He’s dying. He knows he’s dying, and his only regret is that Bright has to be there to see it. But Malcolm’s  _ alive _ , unharmed, and that’s all that matters. He’s strong, and he has people who love him. The team, his mother and sister.

“Malcolm, l-listen to me,” he mumbles, reaching up slowly to cup Malcolm’s cheek, to brush a tear away, and the movement sends flames of fire over his back once more but he ignores it. It’s temporary, and this is more important.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid. You-you’re a good man. Don’t ever doubt that. Promise me.” He drops his hand to Malcolm’s shoulder, squeezes weakly, like he always does.

Malcolm’s face crumbles, his eyes falling shut as tears stream down his face and his body shakes from the force of his sobbing.

“Gil, I can’t do this without you. Please don’t leave me,” he cries.

It takes him a moment to form the words, to take the breath he needs to speak once more.

“You can, kid. You’re s-so strong. Always have been.”

Malcolm reaches over with his blood stained hand and takes hold of the one on his shoulder, warps his fingers around it and cradles it to his chest, pressing a kiss to Gil’s fingers.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “For saving me. For always saving me. Say hi to Jackie. Tell her I love her.”

Gil smiles, eyes falling shut as he thinks about seeing Jackie again.

He can hear Malcolm crying, hear sirens in the distance. The pain starts to fade first, soon he can’t feel anything, and when he tries to open his eyes they feel too heavy. 

The last thing he hears is Malcolm’s voice, soft and quiet.

“I love you, Gil. I love you.”


End file.
